


seems like we're victims of bad timing

by thecoloursneverfade



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Community Service, Generally remaining Louis' POV though, M/M, Misfits AU, OT5 Friendship, POV Alternating, but switching when necessary ok, light mention of drug use, powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-17
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-06-02 19:06:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6578776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecoloursneverfade/pseuds/thecoloursneverfade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>misfits au</p><p> </p><p>  <strong> ~ this WIP is currently on hiatus ~ </strong></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is based off of the UK series Misfits. the setting is the same but there'll be changes to suit the boys and storyline. 
> 
> Thanks to [Tori](https://andthecollisionofyourkiss.tumblr.com) for being my beta!
> 
> title is from 321 by Hedley.
> 
> find me: [here](https://thecoloursneverfade.tumblr.com)

“Hey! You have to pay for that!”

Harry, who has been milling about the shopping center food market out of sheer boredom for the past hour, looks back at the security guard while he holds the peeled banana in his hand, about to bring it up to his mouth.

The security guard – _Barry,_ according to his nametag, steps closer. He's short. A lot shorter than Harry, and if Harry didn't have his mouth hanging open to accommodate the banana, he'd be laughing. At that, and the fact that Barry's bald head is turning more and more red as the banana nears his open mouth. 

“That’s theft! Seriously kid,” Barry says firmly, his thick brows drawing together.

Harry smirks, looking at the short little bald man incredulously. “What are you going to do, arrest me for eating fruit?” he asks, not lowering the banana. He’s already peeled it, would be a waste if he didn’t eat it now.

“It’s not like it’s free! Don’t push it, boy,” Barry says in a warning tone.

Harry stares at him for a few long seconds with a quirked brow and then slowly, he raises the banana to his mouth, very deliberately and drawn out with some added dramatic flair. He slides the banana between his lips, trying hard not to laugh as Barry starts literally turning red and nearing him.

He maybe even closes his eyes to commit to the moment, because Harry is nothing if not theatrical. He lets the banana touch the back of his throat before sliding his teeth through it, and then he feels firm hands grip his shoulders.

“Alright, come with me.” Barry pushes him along through the shopping center. Harry grins smugly at the dirty looks he’s getting from the middle aged shoppers, turning their children away as if he fucking murdered someone.

Barry takes him to a room close by. There’s a small table in the middle with a seat on either side like some actual police interrogation room, as well as a little cell off to the side with metal bars and a guy already sitting in there who looks up when they walk in. He’s very gorgeous, all dark raven hair, brooding and tattooed, seeming more bored than anything.

Harry smiles at him and walks over, leaning against one of the bars.

“Hi,” he says in his best charming voice.

The boy does a little nod. “Hey,”

“ _Jesus –_ don’t talk to each other, and get over here!” Barry yells from the table.

Harry just ignores him, rolling his eyes artfully. “Can you believe this guy?”

The boy's mouth twitches briefly into a subtle smirk. “Tell me about it.”

Barry grabs Harry by the shoulder again and pulls him towards one of the seats. Harry really wants to laugh, if not just for the satisfaction at seeing Barry turn into bright red again.

“I didn’t do it, officer, I swear,” Harry says, feigning dramatics. “I’m innocent!” he chuckles to himself.

“Quiet down! You have an attitude to work on, son.” Barry sits down on the other side of the table. “And you can wipe that smirk off your face.”

He doesn’t.

“Now I’m going to give you a warning –– get your act together and if I catch you stealing again you’ll be in there with him until I can sort you out properly,” Barry says.

Harry smirks further. “Wouldn’t mind that so much.”

Barry huffs. “ _Christ_. Would you prefer it if I contacted your parents?”

“You’d be wasting your time there, Bazza,” Harry says cheerfully, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

Barry appears to grit his teeth at the nickname. He exhales thickly and shakes his head. “A warning. Now get out of here,” he says firmly, waving Harry away.

Harry gets to his feet, nearing the door.

“Hey! Take this with you,” Barry calls after him, holding Harrys banana peel out to him. “And take it to the _bin_. If that wasn’t obvious.”

Harry takes the peel from him, and he turns back to the door. Opening it to the busy shopping centre. He could just walk out, part of him is going to, but then he hears Barry muttering something under his breath, and well.

“Fucking wanker,” Harry mumbles, loud enough for him to hear.

“What did you–?”

Harry throws the banana peel behind him and legs it.

He hears Barry shouting at him from behind and chasing after him. He starts to laugh, like, a lot. He’s running through people and stores and knocking things over in his path to slow Barry down and he’s getting the _best_ looks of disapproval and he cannot stop laughing _._

So much so, that after skilfully avoiding running into those pushy vendors that force people into buying perfume and hand cream, he’s blinking away tears and knocking straight into a sea of children outside the movie theatre, because, right, it’s the holidays and the latest Disney movie just came out.

He’s now lying in a heap on the filthy lino floor, still chuckling to himself. He feels Barry hoist him up roughly and pull him along while he leaves shocked and alarmed children and parents behind him.

“Are you bloody stupid?” Barry says harshly, a little out of breath.

“Smarter than you,” Harry replies smugly.

Barry just grumbles and takes him back to the cell, throwing him in there carelessly with the beautiful boy.

Harry sits down on the opposite bench and grins at him.

“I’m Harry.”

The other boy looks amused, like this is the most entertainment he's had all day. It could very well be, for all Harry knows.

“Zayn,” he says.

Barry looks like he’s about to say something when his radio makes a weird muffled noise. Harry can’t hear what it's saying, but it earns a groan out of Barry. 

“Trouble in paradise, Baz?” Harry asks curiously and earns himself an especially bitter glare.

“I will deal with you two later,” he snaps at them before heading out the door.

 . . .

It wasn’t Liam’s fault.

That fucking security guard didn’t even know the whole situation. Liam’s the one with the split lip for fucks sake, he’s the one who was just protecting his friend, and now he’s being dragged along and humiliated to get locked up like some fucking criminal?

He struggles with his hands behind his back in the guards grip. “Why aren’t you getting _him_?! He tried to fucking assault my friend!”

“Calm down, son,” the guard says, pulling him along.

“I’m not your fucking son, and this is a mistake.”

“You need to control your temper.”

Liam exhales in the form of a groan escaping his lips. “I don’t have a temper. I was just protecting my friend.”

“By getting into a fist fight with one of our cashiers?”

“He drugged my friend at a party and would’ve raped her if he wasn’t caught. I think it was necessary.”

The guard pauses, and then exhales a sigh. “A public shopping centre is no place to have this sort of confrontation.”

Liam huffs as the guard takes him to a cell, already occupied by two other boys. One with a curly hair a length Liam's never seen on a boy before, and one who's mastering the mysterious brooding look, a permanent pout and everything, like the lovechild of a secret agent and a rockstar.

“Hey! Member number three!” The curly one yells. “Thank you Baz, we needed a new one,”

The guard – _Baz?_  rolls his eyes and locks the cell door, grabbing an assortment of paperwork from his desk.

“What are you on about?” Liam asks, feeling his anger slowly subside in his chest in the presence of these two boys. He sits down beside Pouty. 

“We’re starting a boyband,” Curly says enthusiastically.

“We’re really not,” Pouty says.

“We needed a third member or else it would have just been a duo, and can’t have that.”

Liam shrugs. “Alright. M’ not much of a singer though,”

“That’s all good, Barry can be our fourth member, I’m sure he can sing,” Curly says pleasantly.

Liam snorts. “Okay then.”

Curly smirks. “I’m Harry, by the way, and this is Zayn,”

Liam gestures a small wave. “I’m Liam. Shouldn’t fucking be here, but whatever.”

Their attention is drawn to Barry suddenly, who is getting up abruptly and rushing out the door muttering " _F_ _ucking hell"_ under his breath.

 . . .

“Where is he?” Barry asks the frowning woman at the cash register.

She points. “In the fountain, he’s clearly intoxicated and he’s disturbing everyone here.”

He looks towards the big fountain in the middle of the food court, spotting a blond boy stumbling around the centrepiece of the fountain holding up an Irish flag and loudly singing what sounds like the Irish national anthem – and not very well, he might add.

“Fucks sake,” Barry mutters and hastily heads towards the boy in the fountain, but not before colliding with another boy who was walking out of a store, clumsily knocking him to the ground. “Oof!”

“Ah, fuck,” the boy mumbles.

“You alright?” Barry asks, lending him a hand to help him up.

“I think so,” he says once he’s back on his feet. He begins patting his pockets frantically before looking down onto the ground at a small zip-lock bag. “Shit.”

He scrambles for it but it's closer to Barry and he grabs it before the other boy can, snatching it up from the ground where the boy dropped it.

“Marijuana? Seriously?” Barry asks incredulously. He really doesn’t have time for this. 

The boy shrugs. “Can I have that back, please?”

Barry snorts, pulling the boy along by the arm. “Come with me, got this loon to deal with first.”

“And then I’ll get it back? I used up two weeks pay on that.”

Barry doesn’t respond. He gets to the fountain where the drunken singing boy has moved on to shouting obscenities at the onlookers who are telling him to be quiet.

“Wait here,” he tells the other boy before stepping over to the fountain. “Alright, that’s enough! Get out of the fountain!”

Blond boy spins to him. “You just want to silence me because I’m Irish! Typical English courtesy!”

Barry breathes out in frustration, unsure what he did to deserve these boys making his afternoon a living hell. He steps into the fountain, water soaking into his shoes, and proceeds to chase the Irish boy around the centrepiece who starts dodging him like it’s a game while he holds the flag around his neck like a cape, and the other boy laughs from the side lines.

He finally grabs him by the hem of his soaked through shirt and hoists him out of the fountain.

“You culturally insensitive bastard!” The Irish boy yells as Barry pulls him and the other boy through the crowd of onlookers, soaking wet while the other boy laughs excessively and holds a hand out to him.

“I’m Louis. Pleasured to make your acquaintance.”

“Niall James Horan,” the other boy slurs proudly with a happy smile, and shakes his hand.

. . .

“Get in there, and be quiet.” Barry pushes them into the cell and locks it. “I’ll be back to deal with you lot later,” he says before stomping out the door in a huff.

Louis bites back a smirk and spins on his heel, realising that he has an audience, and he meets the eyes of three other boys already sitting in there. Quite the little gathering. 

“Louis?”

Louis looks towards the familiar voice. "Shit, Zayn? Hey, man," he says, sitting across from him. Niall, Dripping Wet Niall follows along with his flag still wrapped around his shoulders. "What are you doing in here?"

Zayn shrugs. “Fascists denying me freedom of speech. The usual.”

Niall leans over to Louis. “Holy shit you know him?” he says in a weird tone of voice that Louis suspects might be intended to be a whisper, but being completely off his head, is coming out in a strained yell. “Hook a brother up!”

Louis snickers and pats Niall’s thigh, amused at the awkward face Zayn is pulling across the small room and the grinning Bicep Boy next to him. “Sure, buddy.”

He feels terrible for only just realising there's another human in here with them, Zayn had sort of distracted him from his earlier observations, and it's only when he catches on the long legs next to his that he takes him in. And oh.

_Oh._

Louis hates that's he's often so easily captivated, but as his eyes do a not-so-subtle drag up the boys body, he decides that nothing could have prepared him for this. He's got to be the human equivalent to a masterpiece, or something. Some kind of renaissance painting. All green eyes, dark curly hair, and an angular jawline that Louis can't stop staring at. 

It's completely ridiculous. Louis  _might_ be in heaven. 

Though knowing his luck, this guy is probably in here because he killed someone. Or. Maybe mall cops don't deal with people thatbad. Louis wouldn't know, he's never been caught before.

“Hey there,” Pretty Curly boy says with a lazy smirk when he catches him staring, dimples poking through pale cheeks and his eyes fixed on Louis. “This day just keeps getting better.”

Definitely not a killer. Louis has a way of telling these things. 

Not that it matters. Oh, God, Louis hates that he's locked in here.

"I like your hair," he blurts out without thinking.  _What the fuck._

Curly smiles, folding his arms over his very nice chest. “I like yours too,” he says, big dopey smile. Stupid, endearing boy. “I’m Harry. You’re Louis, yeah? You and Zayn already know each other?”

Louis swallows down his suddenly dry throat. “Yeah, he does some art by a skate park I used to go to.”

Harry arches his brows slightly, smirking. Louis wishes he wouldn't do that. "That's hot," he says. Louis stares at him in disbelief for what feels like the remainder of his life. “This is Liam by the way, Barry says he has anger issues but I don’t believe that for a second.”

Liam––not Biceps, _Liam_ ––smiles the most adorable fucking smile Louis has ever seen. “Thank you, Harry.”

“No problem,” Harry leans in closer to Louis and whispers: “it’s best to stay on his good side,” to which Liam frowns and huffs back in his seat.

Louis' grin widens, despite himself, and catches himself hoping Harry doesn't move away too much, which is dangerous territory. So he shifts closer to Niall instead. "This is Niall, he's harmless and very passionate about Ireland."

Harry glances past him at the Irish boy. “Really? Can’t tell.”

Stupid, stupid endearing boy.

Reluctantly, Louis tears his eyes away from Harry, just in time for the door to open. 

Barry strolls into the room and brandishes a ring of keys, one of which he uses to open their cell door.

“Alright. Got some papers for you lot to sign," he says, holding a binder. "Your community service starts at the end of the week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be posting this as I write it, follow me on [tumblr](https://thecoloursneverfade.tumblr.com) if you wish to bug me about it (which you definitely should because I need the motivation.)


	2. Chapter 2

**summer.**

 

… _arrival time: 08:00 A.M. on the dot._

Louis checks his phone when he arrives to the community centre. _09:15._ Well, he might as well just go home now. 

Granted, the late timing was slightly intentional, being the effervescently punctual person that he is, Louis decided to take the fashionably late route this morning. Also coming to the conclusion that eight A.M. on a Sunday is a wildly unreasonable time to expect anyone to do anything productive, especially community service.

Unfortunately, it seems, everyone else had that same idea.  

He checks inside the front entryway, on the sheet of A4 paper pinned to the noticeboard by the door where they were told to sign in every morning, and it's completely blank. He's the only one here.  

He’s opted for waiting outside, because there's no way he's going to take on the load all by himself, court orders be damned. He's got his back pressed against the rundown brick wall of the community centre, a burning cigarette between his fingers, his headphones blasting some low quality indie band from where they hang around his neck 

The community centre is honestly a piece of shit, cigarette butts everywhere, tags scribbled out over the walls, broken concrete and suspicious red stains on the ground next to him (it’s probably just paint, but  _still._ ) Louis finds it ironic that he’s expected to spend the next few months here trying to improve the community, when this building could definitely use some work itself. But yeah, no thank you.   

At least the company won’t be so bad.   

Speaking of, where the fuck is everyone? It’s almost twenty minutes past nine, and Louis is starting to feel a little too punctual for his liking. His legs are beginning to ache from all this standing around, but the only surface nearby is a ratty old picnic bench, mounds of chewed gum probably stuck to the bottom and hearts with couples names and numbers scribbled all over it. Louis would probably need to shower after sitting on it.   

His phone vibrates in his pocket again, he doesn’t even bother to check who it is this time. His sister, probably. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if she had given up trying to contact him, but he really isn’t in the mood for another lecture. It was just a bit of weedfor fucks sake, and alright maybe,  _maybe_ taking his stash inside a popular shopping centre while he did some browsing wasn’t the smartest idea, but Louis is a good guy, really. He prides himself in being smarter than what people initially give him credit for upon first glance. So what if he has some nasty little habits? He hasn’t  _killed_ anyone, he’s sort of a saint in those regards – compared to the likes of, well, murderers. He doesn’t think he’s exactly deserving of  _community service_.  

But whatever.

He twists his pink lighter idly between his fingers when he spots a yellow snapback in the distance.   

The Irish lad––Niall––is walking towards the community centre, though appearing considerably less intoxicated than he was the first time they met. He’s got a backwards snapback on, his eyes squinting against the weak sun. Maybe if he wore his hat around the other way he wouldn't have that problem, Louis thinks.   

Niall quickens his pace to a jog along the waterfront that stretches down the side of the community centre. His bright white trainers hitting the pavement, the breeze billowing against his faded American flag tank top.   

“Louis!” he calls out with a wave, just as a loud clap of thunder booms overhead, making him jump a little and look up.   

Louis glances up as well, where angry, dark clouds are coating the sky and threatening a storm. It's the middle of summer, just bloody brilliant. He watches as heavier clouds roll in, it doesn’t look promising at all, but it is a day of community service so a bit of rain would just be the cherry on top.   

He flicks his burnt out cigarette butt to the ground already littered in them, relieved to see another human being. Niall sits on the dirty table of the picnic bench in front of him, swinging his legs. “Howsit?”  

Louis shrugs, already missing the burn in his throat and considering lighting another. “Could be better if I’m honest.”  

An endearing flood of concern washes over the Irish boys face. “What happened?”   

Louis exhales a chuckle, a weird tight feeling creeping up his throat. “It’s nothing, mate.” Just everything, and life is predominately shit, but Louis isn't going to find himself complaining about that to someone he barely knows. Especially someone as carefree as Niall seems to be. 

Niall’s worry only barely seems to subside, though Louis thinks that might have something to do with Zayn sauntering around the corner, hands in his pockets, his drop dead gorgeous lips in their natural resting-face pout. He’s brooding as usual, in an unnecessary pair of dark sunglasses that he removes and hangs off of the collar of his t-shirt. He gives Louis a small nod and directs a tiny smirk Niall's way, leaning against the wall.

Zayn rolls his shoulders back. “This is bullshit.”  

Louis responds with a noncommittal hum, focusing on digging the toe of his shoe into the bit of greenery poking through the concrete. There’s something calming about Zayn's presence, though Louis has never really spent that much time with him. It was sort of a ‘friend of a friend’ situation with Zayn. He’d occasionally see him at the skatepark, and he’d hang out with him at parties with their mutual uni friends where Zayn seemed to be the only one not all about getting wasted and getting laid. It helps that he looks like he just walked off a runway. He's got more tattoos than he did the last time they properly hung out, though it has been a while. Louis hasn't seen that crowd in six months. He remembers.   

Thunder vibrates the pipes running alongside the building, dragging Louis out of those thoughts. 

“Wonder if it’ll rain,” Niall murmurs, and Louis looks up to see him lying on his back along the table looking up at the sky with his hands behind his head, but not really looking, because his eyes are closed.   

Zayn hums thoughtfully, head tilted back so that he can look up as well, then he looks back at them. “Oh, by the way guys, I think we–“  

An: “ _oh thank fuck!_ ” coming from the direction of the street interrupts them. Louis doesn’t recognize the voice, but when they all look towards the interruption, he remembers the face. Liam, Biceps, whatever. He's running towards them, huffing, arms visible in his white tank and shiny with a sheen of sweat. He almost collapses in front of them when he gets there, his face a deep shade of pink, wheezing almost and repeating: "thank fucking god" in breathy rasps. 

“Jesus, you okay?” Louis leans forward and puts an arm on the boy’s shoulder, sharing a similar concerned expression with the Niall and Zayn. He lowers his gaze to meet Liam's eyes. “Liam, speak to me mate,”  

Liam raises his thumb, his chest heaving and his hands leaning on his knees. He breathes heavy until it eventually slows, calming.    

“I’m… I’m good,” he lets out, sitting down on the picnic bench with Niall who had sat up properly at the boys entrance. “Sorry about that, I was staying with my parents on the other side of town and I missed my bus–“ he takes another heavy breath, “–so I had to run and I figured everything would have started already but you’re all still here, well not… um, what’s his name–“  

“Harry,” Louis finishes, seemingly out of nowhere. He doesn’t exactly know where that came from either. “And um, I thought – out of the kindness of my heart – that I would wait for everyone to get here before going in.”  

Zayn snorts. “The kindness of your heart? Or were you just worried that you were the only one to show up?”  

Louis shoots Zayn an overly offended look and shakes his head. “Hush now. I’m a people person. I knew you’d all show.”  

Liam looks intrigued, and his face is slowly retaining it's original colour. “Explain,”  

Louis flashes a self-assured grin. “Gladly. Liam, due to the fact that you don’t believe you should be here and you’re clearly afraid to get into further trouble and risk anything else going on your record." Liam nods in agreement, Louis looks to the others. "Zayn, no offence, but I've met your parents, and if I were you I wouldn’t want to piss them off either. And Niall, you were profoundly excited to hang out with us again the other night. So here we are."  

Niall grins, nodding once. “Spot on.”  

Zayn gazes at him. “What about Harry though?”  

Louis just shrugs. "Got a feeling he'll come."  

That feeling could be construed as Louis really hoping he does show up for stupid reasons, like, he's pretty and Louis likes looking at pretty things so it's only reasonable, and completely selfish. But he thinks he deserves a bit of that now and then. Maybe he should call Lottie. This is a crucial moment, no one really effects him a huge amount anymore, but maybe it's happened a little bit. A tiny bit. 

Louis doesn’t even know him, if he's honest. But he's extremely attractive, right, and even though they'll be in unflattering orange jumpsuits together for the next few months, Louis can still enjoy the view. It's his only shining beacon in this dingy tunnel of empty self-worth he's calling a life.

“Speak of the devil,” Niall says, and Louis follows his eyes.   

His gaze lands on Harry, though he's not at all dressed for community service, in fact he looks like he's been plucked straight out of a street in Brooklyn. Louis can hardly breathe.  

Harry is wearing a sheer  _floral_ shirt –– and very well, Louis might add –– it's unbuttoned down to the navel, his legs hugged in the same skin-tight jeans he wore when they met, and he’s got on a pair of mustard suede boots. The kind that would cause Louis to gag if it were anyone else wearing them. His curls are held back with a brown and red patterned headscarf, showing off every contour of his face even more than when it's down. He’s actually striking. Louis doesn’t know what to do with himself. It's so wrong. Louis is a terrible person. 

It's silly, really, because seeing Harry strolling over to them feels like the first day of spring, or winning the lottery or something. And, like, objectively, anyone would feel that way when they look at him. Louis knows this for a fact, thanks to his astute observations when they were given their community service the other day.  

They didn’t speak a lot once everyone filled out the papers, Liam was the first to leave, looking frustrated but managing a goodbye to everyone. Zayn next, heading towards a shitty car in the parking lot with another tattooed guy sitting on the bonnet who throws him a respirator mask covered in spray paint residue. Niall had to wait behind until he sobered up, and Harry directed a wink Louis' way before spinning on his heel and heading back through the shopping centre, and of course Louis watched him leave. He didn’t know what else anyone could have done given that situation. Point is, Louis noticed  _at least_ fifteen other shoppers along the way who gave him a double-take. Harry is just one of those people.  

The flawless irresistible kind. Ugh. 

"Well, aren’t we a happy looking bunch?” Harry says with a smirk. There's a slight edge to his enthusiasm though, an awkwardness that wasn't there the other day, something undermining his expression that Louis could read as exhaustion and another thing he can't pin. He meets Louis' eyes and lets a small smile play over his lips, and Louis, again, doesn't know what to do with that.   

Liam doesn’t care about Louis' troubling infatuation, evidently. He shoots Harry an unimpressed look. “Why are you so late? Actually, why are we all just standing –– we’re going to get in so much trouble!”  

Niall laughs and pats a solid hand against Liam's back. “We’ll be fine. They don’t really expect us to get there on time,” he swings his legs off of the table, landing on the concrete. “You know what they think of us; five useless members of society, no self-worth, and definitely no time management. Wouldn’t want to disappoint, would we?”  

. . .  

There are five orange jumpsuits in their locker rooms when they finally decide to go inside – or, when Liamfinally decides to force them all to go inside. Louis faces his locker as he quickly slips into his, rolling it up at the ankles because it was bunching at the bottom, then idling in the doorway while he waits for the others.   

"Orange is definitely your colour, I knew it," Harry says brightly when he slips out of the room and waits with Louis. He's rolled up the sleeves of his jumpsuit and unzipped it all the way down the front, and ah there's his familiar  _I don’t give a shit_ attitude Louis recognises from the other day.    

Louis frowns and looks down at himself. “Really? I feel a bit like a criminal, they're not exactly subtle with the uniform." He sticks a thumb over his back to point towards the ' _Community Payback'_ that's printed along the back.    

Grinning, Harry shakes his head, running a finger along the edge of his headscarf that had slipped out of place a little when he got changed. "You're looking at it the wrong way, we're like a proper little group now, bound together by this stylish orange jumpsuit _,"_ he smiles, eyes flitting over Louis once, unreadable but suggesting that this conversation is expanding out of the realms of fashionable wear. "We're doing the city a great justice when you think about it, we're like superheroes."   

Louis raises his eyebrows. That wasn't the answer he was expecting. "I think to the rest of the community, we're the furthest thing from superheroes. But I admire your positive outlook."   

Harry seems to only take in that last part, a strange buoyancy washing over him and a pleased grin settling on his face.     

The other three exit the locker room then, which Louis is grateful for because another moment alone with Harry and Louis would have combusted on the spot. Niall's confident voice leads them down the hall towards the communal area. When they get there, they see their probation worker slouching against a wall, he's got a shaved head and a square jaw, twisting a pen between his fingers. When he lifts his head from his phone upon their entry, Louis gets the immediate feeling that he's garbage. It's just  _great_ to be looked at like that. He seems like a complete twat.   

"Thank you all  _so_ much for showing up when you were supposed to. I'm glad to know this won't already be a massive waste of my time," their probation worker says, lifting his hand to stop Liam who was about to give his reasoning for being late. Louis bites his tongue, hard. "I'm Joe, I have the glamorous job of being your probation worker for the duration of your community service."   

Liam, always the people pleaser, steps forward. "Hi, it's nice to–"   

"Don't interrupt me, kid," Joe cuts him off, shaking his head and letting out something that sounds like the mix between a sigh and a groan. "You'll all be making up for the time you wasted this morning anyway, so that's really not my problem. I want you to paint over the wall by the park," he points towards a storage room at the back. "Supplies are in that cupboard. I'm sure that's all easy enough to understand, but let me reiterate for those of you who are a bit slower –– I really could not care less how long this takes, no one does, I still get paid. If you want this to be over quicker, then you'll get a move on."   

Louis see's Liam noticeably stiffen. "Christ, show some respect, yeah? Have you even looked at the sky?" he asks, dropping the 'porcelain doll' act. "There's a storm coming, how can you expect us to stay out there for very long?"   

Joe lets out an incredulous bark of laughter. "I don't give a fuck if it's the goddamn apocalypse, and you're daft if you think anyone cares if a bunch of young offenders catch a  _cold._ Suck it up, and remember who's in charge."   

Liam, showing a side of him Louis didn’t think existed, flashes a surprisingly fake smile, full of seething loathe. "And that is  _you,_ " Liam states with a nod, "Righto captain." He finishes it with a mock salute.    

Harry sucks in a sharp breath, biting his lip to suppress a snicker, and Louis has to force himself to keep a straight face, which he is sure Zayn and Niall are struggling with too, or they'll likely face an even longer sentence somehow, if Joe is able to work the system to his own personal likings. Louis wouldn’t be surprised.   

Joe doesn’t seem to pick up on it, but he does shoot Liam a look that would surely shoot a hole through him if it were possible. He gestures towards the cupboard again as if it wasn't clear enough the first time, then mutters something derogatory under his breath as he starts to walk in the other direction, lighting up a cigarette before he's even out the door.   

"What a wanker," Harry says when he's gone. "Liam, you legend."   

Liam looks like he wants to sink away. "I could have gotten us into trouble, I'm sorry. He just got to me."

They start walking towards their supplies. Louis would rather get the days work done before they get drenched by the rain. He pats Liams back once. "Don't apologise, mate. You said what we were all thinking."   

" _I_ should probably apologise," Zayn says, standing uncomfortably by the door while they inspect what they have to work with.    

"For what?" Niall asks.   

Zayn brushes back some of the soft hair that's fallen across his forehead. "I think the wall we're painting over is my graffiti, it's um. It's why I'm here. I was trying to tell you guys earlier."   

Harry looks at Zayn incredulously. "Wait, you're just here for some graffiti art?"   

Zayn laughs. "It's not art to everyone, especially when it's illegal.  _Especially_ when my parents work for the government and have a kid who is constantly damaging their reputation."   

“Ooh,” Niall says, raising his eyebrows. “Dude, I have no idea what I’d do if my parents worked for the government. It’s bad enough that they’re lawyers.”   

Zayn makes a face of disgust. “That’s rough. How’d they feel about you being here?”   

“Not great, I'm sure," Niall says with a casual shrug. "If they knew.”   

“You didn’t tell them?” Zayn asks.  

Niall makes a face that could be a mix between an off-smile and an attempt at looking unbothered. “They’re back home anyway, and it's not exactly on their busy agenda to visit their son who gets drunk and loud in public places and then thrown into confinement.”   

“No, I get that though. Expectations can be set too high sometimes.” Zayn says, nodding, and the amusement drops from Niall's expression. He nods at Zayn too, seriously, holding his fist out to Zayn for a bump, which Zayn responds to by touching their fists together semi-awkwardly.     

Liam swings the door open to their supplies and, before taking any out, he unzips his jumpsuit, pulling his arms out of the sleeves and tying them around his hips instead. Then he starts pulling out tins of paint, trays and rollers for them to use. Niall takes all of the rollers, and Zayn carries the paint trays.    

Liam carries one of the tins of paint and Louis is about to follow when Harry decides to move, pushing off the wall he was leaning against by his shoulders, which arches his hips forward in an alluring movement, it’s languid and casual, proving Harry doesn’t even have to  _try_ to look like that.  

"Are you thirsty?" Harry asks, unexpectedly, standing by a vending machine.

Louis' first thought is that Harry is making an innuendo, so he doesn’t even consider the question, just shakes his head. "I'm good."   

"Alright," Harry says, a big dimpled smile. "Let me know if you change your mind."   

Harry bangs his fist once against the side of the vending machine, and Louis thinks there must have been some special technique to it, because down falls a can of coke. Harry cracks it open and takes a sip, then lifts a tin of paint with his other hand, causing a ripple in his arm muscles.  _God_.    

What  _is_ he? He seems like the kind of guy Louis could see himself bringing home to his family, making pancakes with his mum on Saturday mornings and helping the girls with their homework. Simultaneously, Louis wouldn’t be surprised if he's the type that would completely _ravish_ him in bed and make him feel like the world revolves around his axis, only to wake up the next morning cold and alone to a note saying ' _I can do better'._ Louis knows this because he knows people. He just does. People like Harry. And while that thought might be tremendously disappointing, it's probably better to get it out of the way sooner rather than later, harsh judgements or not.  

Also, Harry dresses like a rockstar for _community service_  for fucks sake. 

Louis follows behind him anyway and tries to think about something else. There's a dump truck making a u-turn up the road, beeping loudly and leaving a trail of thick smoke. Louis isn't huge on seeing that every morning, in fact, he was pretty determined to sleep his life away, but then there was the tipping point and, ah... well. The rest of it. 

He’s never been the type to question his life purpose or anything, but he never expected it to be  _this._ He looks across at the crude scratches on the picnic benches, old damp bits of rubbish being lifted along the ground by the wind, the grime that eats away at the railing along the waterfront. This is a giant metaphor for his future, painting walls instead of finishing uni, and working in a dingy bar that pays less than what he needs to live on, his nan being the only person left on this earth who hasn’t completely given up on him. And after everything that happened, everything that he refuses to think about anymore, he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. He’ll cut ties while he’s ahead, because this is probably the best he’s going to get.    

"You're a little quiet," Harry says, suddenly walking alongside Louis.      

Louis feels a flush of emotions all at once. Though, that’s all probably remnants of wherever his train of thought was going. It feels like an invasive thing to say, considering he shouldn’t really know whether or not it's out of character for Louis to be quiet. He doesn’t know him.   

"Am I?" Louis asks, keeping his voice light. "Sorry, weird couple of days."   

"Interested in sharing?" Harry asks, and Louis feels that pinch of frustration again.    

Louis shrugs. "Just annoyed at myself for having to be here."   

"Dude, I know. I had  _so_ much on today," Harry says. "I was going to head back home to see my little sister perform in her school play tonight, but I had to cancel for this."   

Guilt stings Louis' chest. "Oh... Harry, I'm so sorry."   

Harry pauses, narrowing Louis with a blank look, then bursts into laughter. “Louis, I’m _joking._ My sister is like, three years older than me. Do you think Joe would buy it though?"   

And the guilt is gone, but Louis laughs anyway, hitting Harry's shoulder with the back of his hand. "You're a fucking dick."   

Harry grins. "Got you smiling though."   

Louis is actually a little surprised at that himself and he tries to relax his expression.  

"Yeah, I guess you did." Louis nods, and takes the can of coke straight out of Harry's hand. He takes a long sip, just to see Harry watching him, satisfied with their fixed gaze when he hands it back to him. "Thanks."   

They make their way to the assigned wall, confronted with the shock of multi-coloured paint that coats it. A rainbow, Louis realises. In a distorted, abstract sort of sense. It's shooting across the wall, facing the park on the other side that would usually be filled with kids and parents if not for the dreary weather.    

They all put down their tins of paint and equipment and stare at the enormous job in front of them. Though, each of them sporting the same impressed expression as they admire the art.    

"Sucks that we have to paint over this, Zayn." Niall says mournfully.   

Zayn shrugs, unbothered. "There are always other walls."   

"But this is your  _art,_ " Liam frowns."You worked hard on this."   

"It just took like, a couple of hours, and I only did it because I was bored and angry." Zayn runs his hands over the wall before stepping back and opening his tin of paint. "I can guarantee I'll be bored and angry again some time in the not-so-distant future."   

No one looks particularly satisfied with that response, but more thunder booms overhead, causing Louis to drag his eyes upwards again. Water drops onto his face.    

"This is shit," Niall says, at Louis' side, similar water droplets dripping down his face. "I'm no saint, but I'm fairly certain painting in the rain is like, some form of abuse."   

"No, I think it's just 'not very nice,' which unfortunately doesn’t constitute as a crime." Liam points out. 

Louis rolls paint over the wall, and watches as rain drips make it considerably difficult to stick. Harry is at his other side, following a line of grey paint with his roller and biting the corner of his lip in focus.     

"So," Harry says, and Louis keeps his eyes ahead at his work, pretending not to be looking. "If there was no community service, what would Louis be doing with his Sunday?"   

"Honestly," Louis says, already feeling the shame of what he's going to say. "I'd be at the skatepark by my house, because like, sometimes my dealer is there. That sounds terrible right? Because that’s the whole damn reason I'm here."   

Harry chuckles lightly. "You're not hurting anyone. I'm not exactly interested in judging how anyone chooses to live their lives."   

Louis wishes he possessed all of those non-judgey tendencies as well. "No one's that good."   

Harry smirks, an almost childish glint in his eyes. "Oh, I'm not  _that_ good."   

Louis looks at him. "Yeah? And why are you here then?"   

Harry purses his lips like he's trying to remember, then lifts one shoulder in a shrug, a casual lilt to his voice. "I just ate a banana."   

Louis quirks an eyebrow, about to question whether that’s a euphemism for something else, when the ice starts to fall.   

It feels like flecks of hail at first, mixing in with the light rain and melting onto Louis' skin. Just tiny, icy beads of water dripping over him and making it even more difficult to paint over Zayn's art.    

It happens quickly though, the size spikes abnormally and suddenly – suddenly starts to plummet down in a heavy hailstorm. Hail hurts a lot in large quantities, Louis discovers.   

"Fuck this!" Harry shouts over the sound of ice hitting the pavement and he wraps his fingers around Louis' forearm, nodding towards the other side of the building where there's shelter. Along with the others, they abandon their paint and run under the cover of the rattly corrugated iron awning hanging over the edge of the community centre.   

Harry lets go of Louis' arm and Louis squints up into the sky. Hideous clouds are forming in a swirl of deep colours, like a bruise, bright flashes of lightning splitting the sky. The ice falls down heavier, spreading shivers over Louis' skin at the terrible sound being made when it hits the ground, smashing onto the concrete and exploding into piles of ice, hitting the water and sending splashes upwards, waves flooding the pavement.  

"What the  _fuck?"_ Niall yells, jumping back from a chunk that falls way to close to them. "What the fuck is happening?"   

"We have to get inside!" Liam shouts over the loud crashes, making a startled jump as an ice chunk smashes the front windscreen of a car further down the road. The screeching sound of breaking glass rings in Louis' ears, violently so, and the ice grows in size, hurtling down and splitting on the ground in front of them, while all they can do is watch in frozen horror.    

They're about to move when ––   

Ice explodes in between Louis and some of the others, he doesn’t have a chance to see who. The burst of white knocks him backwards, and an arm pulls Louis back, knocking him to the ground to avoid getting crushed by an even larger mound of ice. Louis lands on the concrete and see's it was Zayn who has landed behind him, a hand clinging tightly to Louis' shoulder.   

"You alright?" Zayn asks, hand still secure on his shoulder.   

Louis manages a nod, frozen shards of ice stinging his face, he looks towards the others who are already getting back on their feet. Zayn is pulling him along in their direction when the storm rapidly intensifies.  

Boulder sized ice plummets down around them now, in between their path to the other three. Louis lifts his arms to shield his head as a reflex, the booming sounds causing him to stagger backwards, loud, thudding, echoing in his eardrums. He doesn't even know where to run when Zayn jerks him out of the way again.   

"God, what  _is_ this?" Louis yells, looking at Zayn who seems just as alarmed and confused.   

"Guys!" Harry shouts, and Louis looks towards him. Harry, Liam and Niall are closer to the other end of the building, trying to dodge the falling ice chaotically crashing down around them. They can make it back, it's not that far.   

Louis' hands are shaking, he's about to grip onto Zayn and just risk it running towards the others when ––   

Louis is jolted backwards by something bright, harsh and painful shooting through his chest. He's never felt it before, it doesn’t feel quite like anything. It's hot and cold, sharp and yet soothing somehow. The ground falls away, everything falls to black and he's knocked backwards. The hard concrete slams against his back, an awful snap exploding through him – through his lungs, his head, his fingertips, until everything else is gone.    

A piercing sound fills the empty ringing in his ears, it feels like nothing conceivable, and yet something in Louis' brain clicks, every thought and awareness encompassed by a low hum. The sky cracks and splits and roars, and all Louis can see is black.   


End file.
